An Early Kind of Charm
by FluffshipIsMagic
Summary: Francis Bonnefoy woke up the same way he did every day: With his heart's desire in his arms and the bane of his existence on the other side of the door. (Fruk domestic fluff that includes an evil cat. Dedicated to Katt42!)


**Dedicated to Katt42, who requested Fruk with an evil cat. You're a wonderful person, and you deserve much more than this bit it was the best I could do! **

**Disclaimer: Don't own Hetalia. It would be a big, fluffy mess if I did.**

Francis Bonnefoy woke up the same way he did every day: With his heart's desire in his arms and the bane of his existence on the other side of the door. With soft, feathery blonde hair tickling his nose and loud, obnoxious meowing killing his ears.

Sighing, he gently released Arthur and moved to sit up on the bed, glancing at his alarm clock. It was only there for nostalgic purposes; a small reminder that he used to be woken by the warm melodies of Edith Piaf and not the cacophonous meowing of Earl Kirkland.

Arthur shifted under the sheets, turning towards Francis in a half-asleep state, eyes still closed and keeping out the morning. Getting out of bed, Francis pulled the blue covers up to Arthur's chin, tucking them closer around the man in an attempt to make up for the loss of another person's body heat.

Then, and only then, did he open the door and face the source of his daily troubles. "Bonjour, Earl," he said with a low voice, rubbing his eyes and looking down at the Russian Blue with mild contempt that would have been stronger if he wasn't so tired.

The cat didn't bother him with a response, barreling into his legs and rushing to the bed, easily sniffing out his owner and curling up into a ball where Francis had been a minute earlier; purring like a motorboat. The Frenchman caught the smug cat's eye and sneered. Earl didn't deserve to be so close to Arthur. That cat was the devil's incarnate, a dangerous ball of gray-blue fur that had the capability to kill anything it came in contact with and Francis didn't trust it for a minute.

("You know, I think you just might be the devil."

"A handsome devil, oui?"

"Dear God no. I meant that you're actually Satan. Making my life miserable and all that.

Oh. Well, then the feeling's mutual, cher. Want to dance?)

Heading down to the kitchen, a smile graced Francis's face as he inspected his spotless paradise. Arthur wasn't allowed anywhere near the area unless he was making tea, and merde it had taken months of nagging to get the Brit to finally accept that (very sensible) arrangement.

Gliding to the fridge, Francis twirled his hair thoughtfully as he considered what he was going to bless his taste-buds with today. Crepes were always good, but a bit too cliche and Arthur honestly didn't like them. He pretended to dislike just about everything Francis cooked, of course, but if he didn't end up eating the entire dish then Francis knew it really was a matter of taste and not pride.

Tilting his head, he finally decided on the homemade croissants he had made a few days ago, not being in the mood to cook or, quite honestly, do much at all. Grabbing the jam, he set it on the counter and placed two of the pastries in the microwave. Catching the gleam of a copper kettle, Francis turned the stove on absentmindedly, wondering if he should go wake his love or let him sleep a while longer.

In the end, there was no need, for the tell-tale clumsy stumble that was Arthur coming down the stairs reached Francis's ears and he hummed lightly, setting out Arthur's favorite mug and going over to make himself coffee. Although having Arthur's tea hot and steaming for him would be perfectly romantic, Francis didn't dare mess with his partner's morning cuppa. It was part of their agreement, and as long as Arthur could brew his tea and Francis could cook his food undisturbed, they were okay. Wonderful, even.

"Morning," came a soft grumble from the doorway, and Francis spun around from the counter and smiled happily at Arthur.

"Good morning, cher."

Rubbing his eyes, Arthur headed over to the kettle, stopping when he saw it was already heating and moved to sit at the table, burying his head in the sleeves of his ridiculously oversized jumper. Francis smiled softly, retrieving the croissants from the microwave and putting them on separate plates, placing one in front of Arthur with exaggerated flare.

Impossibly bright green eyes peeked up at Francis, followed by a light scoff and a grab for the jam.

Francis chuckled, stopping Arthur with a light, "Hey," and tilting the man's chin up, kissing him slowly, all thoughts of morning breath disregarded.

Breaking away, Arthur wrinkled his nose in mock annoyance before hearing the whistle of the kettle, standing up to fix his morning tea.

Francis finished making his own coffee, pushing the wooden chair back with his foot and sitting down, locating the paper and reading the highly and overly British headlines with mild contempt. Why he had agreed to spend most of the year living in a flat on the outskirts of London and not Paris, he would never know.

The unfortunately familiar mewling of a certain grey cat began to fill the room, and Francis looked around the kitchen, trying to pinpoint Earl's location. He found the demon soon enough, curling around Arthur's legs and meowing pitifully.

Arthur made a sound of sympathy. "Oh, Earl. You need your breakfast too, yeah? C'mere, daddy will get you some food."

Francis rolled his eyes behind the paper, shooting a glare over at the grey cat that was now in Arthur's arms, rubbing his furry (and evil) head against the blonde's cheek. Catching Francis's stare, Earl hissed lightly, making Arthur look up as well. "Oh, not this again. Can't you two just get along?" Arthur questioned, opening the cupboard where Earl's food was stored.

Gesturing towards the cat, Francis said defensively, "Lapin, that cat is demonic! Every time I walk by he pounces on me. Some of my best shirts have scratches on them now. I'm not the problem."

Scratching Earl behind the ears, Arthur made a calming noise, rocking the cat slightly as he grabbed the bag of cat food. "Well, maybe if you didn't sneer at him all the time and and actually petted him once in a while, he would like you more."

As the cat's eyes narrowed into slits, Francis looked away in slight fear, muttering, "I don't think that's it. Besides, he won't let me come near him."

Sighing, Arthur finished pouring the kibble into Earl's bowl and sat down at the table. "Oh, come on now, he's really a very sweet cat. You just piss him off for some reason."

This elicited a scoff out of Francis, followed by, "Yes, well, the feeling's mutual."

All of the sudden, Francis was taken back to a dance in ninth grade, where he had annoyed Arthur all night and Arthur had insulted him all night, and they ended up spending the entire evening together. Then, he looked over at Earl, who was grumpily eating his food and lapping up his water, and he thought,_ 'Well. Perhaps wooing a cat is not that different from wooing an Englishman. And,'_ Arthur got up from his chair and kissed him on the forehead, going back upstairs to get dressed for work, _'I am an expert at that.'_

__***What's that? This is ridiculously short? ... I know. I know but my moind wouldn't let me continue and it just stopped. Urgh. If I ever get inspired I WILL write more. I promise. I hope you enjoy this at least a little bit, Katt dear! **

**ALSO, if you requested something of me last December, it's on it's way! I wanted to post them all at around the same time, so I waited till the end of January. Think of it as an early Valentine's gift!**


End file.
